I love you too, Carly
by BoxOfTrinkets
Summary: There wasn’t even a guarantee he was coming. There never was. But still. Every time. She was here. Even when she stood in this dark, cold hotel room all night, by herself, staring out the window, waiting for him.its seddie, dont be thrown off by the title


She shivers gently as she stares out the dirty and cracked window at the dreary sight of Seattle's back streets. Its dark out, it's dark inside her room. It's drafty and her thin dress isn't enough to keep the chill off her thin body. Her face is dirty, make up runs down from her eyes and discolors the white, sickly pallor of her complexion. Her dull, blonde hair is in disarray and her curls hang in loose tangles down to her waist that has gotten far too thin as of late. She hasn't moved from her spot by the window where she's been standing for the last half hour, waiting for him to show up. There wasn't even a guarantee he was coming. There never was. But still. Every time. She was here. Even when she stood in this dark, cold hotel room all night, by herself, staring out the window, waiting for him.

She's trying not to feel anything. She's trying to hold everything in. She doesn't want to risk allowing emotions in the case he doesn't show. Its worse when he doesn't. She slowly reaches for the small bottle that is sitting on the window sill. She opens it and slips another pill into her mouth. One pill every ten minutes. He doesn't know about the pills. He thinks he took her last bottle with him. He didn't show last time. And she had spent another night getting her stomach pumped. Those pills. She breathes in a shuddering breath as her view of the street she's been watching becomes slow and sleepy and the sadness is becoming easier to handle. Her knees have been trembling for awhile now and she's on the verge of falling to the floor and just watching the door just as she does every other night he doesn't show. She's never angry when he doesn't show. She knows he can't sometimes. And it's fine with her. She swallows another one.

The door behind her opens with a groan and the tiny part of her that she's allowing emotion to breaths a sigh of relief. He came. She turns to face him and her knees feel weaker. His soft brown eyes. The tired lines in the corners of those eyes. He's gotten thin too. He sees the bottle and his mouth turns down in a sad frown and without a word he holds out his hand for them. She hands it to him without a word. She didn't even notice him cross the room. Everything swims slightly and she feels herself float towards him as he captures her hand with the pill bottle and he pulls her against his strong chest. He wraps his long arms around her then frame and they both breathe together. A dull flame of emotion begins to warm her through and the cold feeling of emptiness evaporates and she breaths him in, his rich, spicy scent that hasn't changes since they were kids. She vaguely remembers when they would fight and wrestle and the scent would linger on her sweater for days.

She's still floating when she feels them reach the bed and they lay down side by side and he gently tucks her against him, placing his chin on her head. The sadness that has been her only companion for the last few months break past her wall of immunity and a few tears darkened with mascara trickle down her already dirty face and dampen the collar of his shirt. It's not like it matters. He's learned by now and he always wears black. When he shows. He doesn't always. But it's fine with her. She lives for the few hours a months she can spend in his arms and completely forget the world outside of the drafty hotel room they have christened as there own. He runs his hand up her back and runs his fingers through her blonde tangles in a vain attempt to smooth them out. She knows he hates how sad she is. She knows he hates how sad she is. She knows he wishes she looked better, so he won't be reminded of her pain every time he sees her and so he won't be reminded that it's his fault.

She feels his hand leave her hair and he gently places it on her chin. He tilts her face up and she feels soft lips with a hint of salt caress her own and she shivers. She didn't notice he was crying. She hates it when he cries. Angels shouldn't cry. She kisses him and as gently as possible wipes off the moisture from his face, completely oblivious to the fact that she's getting makeup on him from her own tears. He pulls her tighter against him and replaces his head on top of hers and her head is still spinning from her pills. She hears him whisper and the sheer endlessness that plagues her daily leaves temporarily and she knows he's probably lying but she doesn't care. She forces herself from her wreckage of emotions and whispers back to him. They are silent. Unmoving. Not thinking. Just feeling.

She begins to cry again when she feels his phone vibrate against her leg and when he feels his hand leave her back to reach into his pocket and answer it.

"Hello? Hi Carly, yes I'm on my way. Yeah. Yeah. In a little bit. Okay. I love you too Carly"

Her heart breaks and pain racks through her before she shuts off the pain and allows him to detangle his limbs from hers. He stands, straightens his clothes and watches her. He hates the sadness and pain and anger that hide in her eyes that stand out form her dull, lifeless, dirty mask. He leans down and picks up the bottle that rolled to the floor and slips it into his pocket. He bends to her and places a soft kiss on her forehead. And stands. And turns. And leaves. She doesn't move for a few minutes. She stands and returns to the window.

She shivers gently as she stares out the dirty and cracked window at the dreary sight of Seattle's back streets. Its dark out, it's dark inside her room. It's drafty and her thin dress isn't enough to keep the chill off her thin body. Her face is dirty, make up runs down from her eyes and discolors the white, sickly pallor of her complexion. Her dull, blonde hair is in disarray and her curls hang in loose tangles down to her waist that has gotten far too thin as of late. She doesn't move as she watches him cross the back parking lot and get back into his car. Watches him sit behind the wheel with his head in his hands. Watches him start the car. Watches him drive away. Drive back to her.

She reaches for her purse on the floor and pulls out another small bottle of pills. Opens it slowly. And slips another pill into her mouth. And another. And another. And another…


End file.
